


With a Promise That's More Than Just Someone's Last Name

by BreTheWriter



Series: Hold Me Like You'll Never Let Me Go [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Background Clint Barton/Phil Coulson, Family Fluff, I recognize that the MCU has made decisions, M/M, Mentions of historical homophobia, Pre-Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. Season 2, Pregnant Jane Foster, but given that they are stupid-ass decisions I've elected to ignore them, mentions of child torture, this is my canon now
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-09
Updated: 2019-06-09
Packaged: 2020-04-23 18:12:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,699
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19156279
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BreTheWriter/pseuds/BreTheWriter
Summary: When Tony finds out that the babies James Barnes rescued from HYDRA are ready to go to foster homes - and realizes how much James is going to miss them - he calls in a favor or two. All of a sudden, the Avengers family has a new member.





	With a Promise That's More Than Just Someone's Last Name

**Author's Note:**

  * For [purpleyedemon](https://archiveofourown.org/users/purpleyedemon/gifts), [SilverTempest](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverTempest/gifts).



> I'll be honest, I wasn't sure how this story was going to go when I started it. It's mostly a fluffy little interlude in the storyline (much like You're Gonna Be). But I hope you enjoy it anyway. :)
> 
> Title is from "American Child" by Phil Vasser.

Tony turned the small card over and over in his hands for a long while. He wrestled with himself, running through all of the options, then finally came to a conclusion and strode into his lab

It was either fairly in the morning, or incredibly late at night, depending on how you looked at it; he was alone, except for the skeleton of the oversized robot he had been constructing, the one that would (hopefully) make superheroes…not unnecessary, exactly, but able to take it easy, give _them_ a bit of safety, too. Ignoring it, as well as his other ongoing projects, he opened up an extremely secure communications channel and waved his hand at the appropriate name.

After a few seconds, during which J.A.R.V.I.S. dismantled some inadequate security protocols and built up some better ones, the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo popped up on the screen, then dissolved, to be replaced by a familiar, if tired-looking, face in a dimly-lit room.

“Tony,” Phil Coulson said with a nod.

“Phil.” Tony returned the nod. “Sorry if I woke you.”

“You didn’t. I was already up. What can I do for you?”

Tony, himself a master at avoiding conversations, recognized the dodge but decided not to mention it, not yet. He went straight to the point of his call. “Is Simmons okay?”

Phil looked puzzled, but Tony saw the brief flash of worry in his eyes. “She’s fine. Why?”

“This came in yesterday’s mail,” Tony said. He held up the black plastic card, embossed with the S.H.I.E.L.D. logo, the silver initials J.S. visible in the lower right-hand corner. “No note. No return address.”

Phil stared at the card silently. His face had no trace of surprise, but the worry was back, and this time it didn’t go away. Tony pushed him. “Is she okay?”

“She’s fine,” Phil replied, almost mechanically. He swallowed, glanced over his shoulder, and added in a low tone of voice, “She’s—not here right now.”

“Where is she?” Tony asked, not convinced by the attempt at reassurance.

“Visiting her parents,” Phil said. The reply was a little too quick, a little too pat.

Tony raised an eyebrow, keeping the card in view. “Try again.”

Phil took a deep breath. “On assignment. I can’t talk about it—it’s not safe—but she’s—she’s okay.”

“Contradicting yourself there. If she’s safe, you can tell me where she is.”

“No—I can’t. She’s safe as long as no one knows where she is.” Phil hesitated, then added quietly, “I—I didn’t tell her to send that back to you.”

Tony looked down at the card again. “She must’ve decided…keeping it was too risky. Wherever she is, she doesn’t want to chance this falling into the wrong hands. Or them finding it, and it blowing her cover.” He sighed. “I’ll keep it safe for her—until she comes home.”

“Thank you.” Phil softened. “I hope—I hope it won’t be too long.”

“How’s Fitz?”

“Not good,” Phil admitted. “He’s started fumbling over his words, and his hand…it’s not up to scratch yet. It seems like he’s getting worse.”

“I’d offer to let him stay here again,” Tony said, “but we both know he’d hate it.”

“Yeah. The rest—everyone else is doing well, though.”

“Give Skye a hug for me.”

“I will.” Phil rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Give Clint one for me?”

“Of course,” Tony said. His worry about Simmons was eclipsed momentarily by worry about Phil. He didn’t look like he was sleeping much— _said the pot to the kettle_ —but there was something else that was wearing him out, too. It could have been running S.H.I.E.L.D., depleted as it was, but Tony couldn’t remember Nick Fury ever looking like that. Maybe he had only let himself do it in private. “Do you think you’ll be by soon to give him one yourself?”

“I’m flying through in a couple days. Gotta check on a few things. I’ll try to stop by then.”

“Just you?”

“Probably.”

Tony fought down a surge of disappointment. “All right, well, you’d better stop in. Clint misses you.”

“I miss him, too.” Phil looked wistful. “I can’t thank you enough for what you’ve done for him—for my whole fam—my team. If there’s anything I can do for you, just say the word.”

Tony hesitated. “There is one thing.”

* * *

It had become a ritual. Every morning at about seven, Tony drifted down from his lab, Clint hauled himself out of bed or wherever he’d been whiling away the night, and Steve and James came in from their run. They met up on the observation deck, watched the sunrise, and shared the first cup of coffee of the day. It was a good cup of coffee, sometimes spun out for an hour while they talked quietly before going downstairs to join the others for breakfast and louder conversation.

That morning, James was unusually silent, even for him. He hadn’t taken more than a sip of his coffee and simply stared at the horizon as though something about its appearance bothered him.

“What’s the matter?” Tony finally asked, raising an eyebrow. “You look like your best friend’s been drafted.”

Steve shot a glare at Tony; they’d grown closer over the last few months, but teasing James was still a sore spot for the super-soldier. James didn’t really react, however. “Just…worrying. They found foster homes and…I just hope they’ll be okay, you know?”

“I’m sure they’ll keep you posted,” said Clint, who understood perfectly. James had been going regularly to the part of the hospital S.H.I.E.L.D. had control over to visit the infants he’d rescued from the Jersey City HYDRA facility. “Hell, practically everyone in the world knows where Avengers Tower is. They can write or visit you, too.”

“Yeah—but still.” James’ shoulders slumped.

Steve reached over and squeezed James’ fingers comfortingly. Clint had to cut his eyes away, pain gripping his chest at the sight of the simple gesture. There wasn’t really anything sexual about it, but it was intimate and tender and achingly familiar.

It wasn’t like he’d never been away from Phil before. Their work had kept them apart a good deal of the time, once they’d both started climbing the ranks in S.H.I.E.L.D.; they’d lived for stolen moments and hours and the occasional weekend. Hell, he’d spent two years believing Phil was dead. But between that and HYDRA coming out of the woodwork, he’d been noticing a lot more separation anxiety lately. He worried about his fiance. A lot.

“Are you going to go see them this morning?” Steve asked quietly.

James shook his head, looking down at his coffee. “They’re all going out to their homes. A team was coming to deliver them this morning. Martins didn’t tell me until I was walking out the door. I—I didn’t even get to say goodbye.” His voice broke slightly.

“It’s gonna be okay, Buck,” Steve said, squeezing James’ hand harder, but the look he shot Clint was one of worry bordering on panic.

Clint had sort of unofficially adopted the two men out of time as younger brothers, regardless of the fact that they were technically closing in on a hundred. He put a comforting hand on James’ shoulder—a little higher than he normally would have, but he was on James’ left, and the man who had been the Winter Soldier was still sensitive about his metal arm. Tony had offered to rebuild it several times, but so far, James had refused every time. Clint thought he could guess why.

“They know you care, James,” he said softly. “They’re pretty intelligent, after all. Even if they’ve never said anything, they know.”

James closed his eyes briefly. Before anyone else could say anything, a voice rang out from behind them. “I hope you guys don’t mind a visitor, this early in the morning.”

Clint whirled around, startled at the intrusion, but his heart rising with delight at the voice itself. “Phil!”

Phil was smiling, holding something close to his chest. “I can’t stay too long, unfortunately. My plane leaves at twelve.”

“That’s all right.” Clint would take whatever he could get.

Steve nodded. “Good morning, Director.”

Phil returned the nod, then looked up at James as he came closer. “Agent Barnes—I brought something for you.”

James frowned, obviously puzzled. “What is it, sir?”

For an answer, Phil moved aside the blanket covering what he was holding and turned it around, smiling even more broadly. James’ face lit up in a way Clint seldom saw when the man wasn’t looking at Steve. “Katie!”

The dark-haired infant had obviously just woken up; she blinked in evident bewilderment for a moment before her eyes fell on James. She smiled sleepily and held out her arms. James plucked her from Phil’s arms and cuddled her to his chest, smiling as he pressed his cheek to the top of her head. There were tears in his eyes.

“For right now, they want her to go in once a week,” Phil said as Clint slid an arm around his waist, anxious for any type of physical contact. “Current appointment is Thursday afternoons at three, but you can change that if it’s an inconvenient time for you. I can’t imagine it would be, but…”

James looked up, his eyes wide with surprise. “Wh-what?”

“They’re just check-ups,” Phil assured him. “She’s doing well—they all are—but they’re monitoring all the babies. Erskine’s formula was never intended for infants. And we all know that HYDRA doesn’t much care about what it does to their victims, as long as it eventually works. We’re just trying to find out how it’s affecting their development, _if_ it’s affecting their development.”

“Yeah, but—wait.” James looked lost. “Shouldn’t you—I mean, shouldn’t you be telling her foster parents all this?”

Phil’s eyes crinkled upwards in a knowing smile. “I am.”

Clint’s eyebrows shot up in surprise as growing understanding—and hope—dawned in James’ eyes. “You mean—”

“I mean that the most important criteria for a foster home for these children we had were that it be somewhere safe, that it be with people who could be trusted, and that it be a loving and supportive environment. And you fill all those criteria. Katie responds to you in a way she doesn’t respond to anyone else.” Phil grew serious. “I’ve got a car seat for her, and a paper copy of her file. And like I said, she’s got to go to those appointments, three o’clock every Thursday afternoon until they say otherwise. But I swear they won’t hurt her, and you’ll be able to stay in the room with her while they run whatever tests they need to.”

James ran a hand over Katie’s head lightly, then looked up at Tony, apprehension in his eyes. “She can stay—can’t she?”

Clint honestly hadn’t thought of that, but he was reassured by the grin on Tony’s face. “I set the crib up in your room while you were on your run this morning. And if she needs clothes, I’m sure Jane and Darcy would be willing to go shopping with you, or do it for you.”

“You knew Katie was coming,” Steve said, his voice half-accusing.

“It was his idea in the first place,” Phil said.

Tony held up both hands, palms outward, his expression softening. “Last week, when you said the babies were almost ready for foster homes…I saw how unhappy you were, even though you were trying to act like you weren’t. I mean, you knew it was a good thing, but I could tell you were gonna miss them, especially Katie here. So I…called in a favor or six.”

James’ eyes brimmed with tears, and he lowered his head, perhaps to hide them. “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you so much.”

Steve rested a hand on James’ back, smiling at Katie. “Do _you_ want to stay, pretty girl?”

Katie’s eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded and smiled back at him. Tony raised an eyebrow. “Still not talking?”

“She won’t,” Phil said quietly. His expression clouded over as he spoke.

James looked up, worry in his eyes. Steve moved a little closer as James said, “Why not? From what Dr. Montenegro told me, they’ve all been accelerated to the intelligence of at least a ten-year-old. They should be talking.”

“Communicating, yes. Talking, no, that’s not—that won’t happen.” Phil took a deep breath. “They—HYDRA removed their vocal chords.”

Tony and Steve both paled. James’s expression was perfectly blank. “And the accelerated healing factor doesn’t extend to regeneration of lost body parts.”

Katie touched James’ metal arm, then looked up at him. A slightly puzzled look crossed her face when James didn’t respond. Clint intervened. “Yes, that’s what happened to his arm.”

James started as Katie turned inquisitively towards Clint. Steve shot Clint a pain-filled look before resting his fingers on the nape of James’s neck. “We’ll figure something out, Buck. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I can teach you sign language, Katie, if you want,” Clint offered. He’d been about to make the suggestion to Steve and James, but remembered what James had said about Katie having the intelligence of a young child rather than an infant. She would understand him just fine—he didn’t have to talk like she wasn’t there. “Teach you fellas, too, so you can understand what she’s saying.”

Katie nodded eagerly. Clint felt Phil relax against him as Tony grinned. “C’mon, you two, want to introduce the newest resident to everyone else?”

* * *

Katie did need clothes—she had nothing but the fuzzy sleeper she’d come in. James made himself wait until Coulson left, so he could say goodbye and thank the man one last time, before setting out to get her things. Jane and Darcy offered to do it for him, but he declined. He’d always been a smart dresser, and unlike most guys, he enjoyed clothes shopping. And although he was still nervous about going out in public, he knew he would need to brave it sooner or later—especially now that he had Katie.

“I always hated this,” Steve said ruefully as he maneuvered the SUV through the streets. Stark had programmed the coordinates for a children’s clothing store into the GPS for them, even though they’d both said they could find one themselves, and had also refused to tell them which one it was.

“What? Driving in New York?” Darcy piped up, poking her head in between the seats. While they weren’t going to do the shopping _for_ him, James had been perfectly willing to allow them to come along. After all, Jane had suddenly realized that she hadn’t started thinking about clothes for _her_ little one, and she was beginning her third trimester.

James chuckled knowingly. “Steve’s never driven in New York before. My parents had a car, but we didn’t—we took the bus or subway, or walked everywhere. He’s talking about going clothes shopping.”

“I’m talking about going clothes shopping _with you,_ ” Steve shot at him. “I didn’t mind when it was just me. I could go in, get what I needed, and get out. But when you were involved, it was an _excursion._ ”

“You had no sense of style, Stevie. I swear you’d’ve worn the same pair of slacks every day if I didn’t force you to buy something else.”

“Yeah, well, when you can’t tell one color from another, you tend to wear the things you already know won’t clash,” Steve muttered.

Jane’s eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. “You’re colorblind?”

“Was,” Steve corrected her. “Before Erskine’s serum. It’s one of the reasons I couldn’t join the Army.”

“One of the more minor ones,” James added. “Like, he also had asthma, flat feet, a sunken chest, a curved spine, and an immune system that couldn’t stand up for crap, among other things. Most of the recruiters didn’t even get as far as ‘colorblindness’ before they stamped him 4-F.”

Steve blushed. “Shut up.”

“How many times did you _try?_ ” Darcy demanded.

“Uh…five.”

“Jeez. Was the word ‘quit’ in your dictionary?”

James remembered something and fought to keep his expression deadpan as he glanced at Darcy over his shoulder. “No. Matter of fact, I think the entire section from ‘Pyrrhic’ to ‘recitative’ was missing.”

“Webster’s Un-Unabridged,” Steve said, staring straight out the front window of the SUV as he repeated their oft-used quip.

They avoided making eye contact, knowing they would both start laughing uncontrollably. Darcy was smirking, but Jane either didn’t understand the exchange or ignored it. “And all of that went away when you became Captain America?”

“Yeah. They told me that from the beginning—that the procedure would fix everything that was wrong with me.”

James turned to look at Steve. His expression hadn’t changed, but there’d been something in his voice that set all of James’ instincts going, and he noticed now that his friend—his lover—was clutching the steering wheel just a little tighter. Something told him, though, that Steve wouldn’t explain what was bothering him in front of Jane and Darcy, so he held his peace.

The rest of the ride to the store was done in silence, save for the periodic chirping of the GPS. They finally pulled into a parking space—Steve grumbled about the cost of parking, which led to Darcy teasing him about “back in his day”—and made their way into the building. And stopped.

Steve gaped. “Holy shit.”

James didn’t say anything. He just stared.

He’d never really been a Macy’s shopper. If he thought back far enough, he’d probably been once, just to see, but he’d always been more a fan of Gimbel’s. It meant he had no point of reference for how the store used to be, and definitely no point of reference for how it should be. Looking around him, he really, really wished that he’d at least asked questions before they’d left the Tower.

It was fucking _enormous._ There were giant red stars everywhere that made him rub uncomfortably at his metal arm, well-hidden with a long-sleeved shirt, but there were also escalators and winding staircases and mannequins everywhere. Everything glittered and shone and loomed. There were _maps_ of the place.

“Jesus Christ,” he finally whispered.

“Probably find him around here somewhere,” Steve muttered.

Jane was already lurching towards a cheerful-looking woman in a red sweater set with a gold name badge. “Excuse me, can you tell me where the children’s section is?”

They got directions to the appropriate floor, and even the appropriate department, although once they hit the floor James was pretty sure a complete moron could have figured out what was where. There was a whole section of the floor that was nothing but pastels, tiny, tiny pastels, that somewhere along the line someone had decided was _the_ appropriate range of hues for infants. Big-eyed animals and cartoon vehicles festooned the fronts of countless shirts and sleepers, and almost everything being marketed at infant girls had bows somewhere. James found himself whistling an old Dinah Shore tune, which earned him a crooked smirk from Steve.

“Where do we even start?” he muttered. They should have brought Katie with them, but she’d been obviously getting sleepy before they’d left. Natasha, much to James’ surprise, had plucked her out of his arms and cradled her against her shoulder as she told them to have a good time. Steve had told her not to teach the baby martial arts while they were gone, and Natasha had told him something she probably wouldn’t have said if Steve spoke Russian.

Steve hesitated, looking around them. Jane and Darcy had wandered off to the newborn clothes and were cooing over tiny layette sets and frilly dresses. “I have no idea,” he finally admitted. “I don’t even know what size she wears.”

“At least we don’t have to get it tailored anymore.” James sighed. “Although it’d fit her better if it was, but…”

“Buck, she’s not even old enough to be considered a toddler yet. And she’s been genetically enhanced. She’d outgrow anything you got tailored for her in less than a month.”

“Good point.” James twisted one of the tags dangling off the nearest outfit. “Babies’ clothes are sized by age?”

“They’re sized by what an average baby of that age is supposed to be like,” a voice said at James’ elbow.

James almost jumped out of his skin and spun around quickly. Steve grabbed his hand—the real one—and squeezed tightly, partly to comfort him, partly to ground him, and partly, James suspected, to remind him that if he didn’t suppress the instinct to react violently, Steve would put him on his ass. He squeezed back and took a deep breath before focusing on the person who had spoken. It was a skinny young man with corn-colored hair and light blue eyes, wearing the store uniform and a bright smile. His name tag read JOHNNY.

“If this is for a baby shower, I recommend buying three- to six-month clothes,” Johnny, if that was his name, continued. “Most people buy the newborn clothes, but babies grow so fast, no baby will ever wear every outfit they get at a baby shower if they’re all newborn-sized. Maybe go up to nine months.”

“No, uh…she’s…already past that,” James mumbled. He shot Steve a helpless look, begging him to say something, _do_ something to get him out of this mess. He was so not good with people.

Steve squeezed his hand again, then let go and slipped his arm around James’ waist, pulling him close. “She’s been in an institution most of her life. You know how that goes. Not much beyond the basics.”

“Oh, you’re adopting?”

James swallowed hard and leaned into Steve a little bit. He was shocked, actually, at how badly he wanted to be able to say _yes._ To be able to claim Katie as his daughter, his and Steve’s. But even if New York law allowed unmarried couples to adopt, Martins had already told him that S.H.I.E.L.D. was working to find the babies’ birth parents. It would be at least another year before anyone could even start the process of adopting, and then only if their parents weren’t found or didn’t want them.

“Fostering,” he managed to say.

If anything, Johnny’s smile got brighter. “That’s great, too. All kids deserve a good family. What’s her name? How old is she?”

Something inside James relaxed, just a smidgeon. “Katie. She’s ten months old.” Give or take, he added silently. The paperwork from HYDRA hadn’t listed her date of birth, only her date of “acquisition,” and the serum made it difficult to accurately gauge her age from her development. Based on what they had learned from Malachi Richards, a former HYDRA scientist who’d been coerced into working for them to stop them using his own daughter for experimentation, they assumed most of the infants had been no more than a week old when “acquired”. Katie’s birthday had been tentatively placed at October 15.

It was good enough for now.

“Well, then, you’re going to want some twelve-month outfits for her, but most likely you’ll want to focus on the eighteen-month clothes. She’ll be growing pretty rapidly for a while and you want to make sure she isn’t stuffed into something too tight. Better to be too big than too small, you know?” Johnny gestured to the racks. “Feel free to look around. Or do you need help picking some stuff out?”

“No, I think we’re good,” Steve said with a smile. James couldn’t help a sigh of gratitude.

“Well, if you need me, just holler. I’ll be around.” Johnny smiled again and ambled towards Jane and Darcy, who appeared to be arguing about something.

James turned to look at Steve, who was still smiling. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Yeah, shut up. C’mon, let’s get our girl dressed up.”

Steve’s expression softened. “Our girl,” he repeated. “I like the sound of that.”

It was almost fall, which meant things were transitioning to longer sleeves and thicker material. Steve murmured over the colors he hadn’t been able to see seventy years before, and James found himself thrilled by the variety of styles and patterns available. They tried not to go overboard, but they ended up with about twenty little outfits, including two pairs of shoes—a pair of black patent leather Mary Janes that would do if she needed to dress up for some reason and a pair of sturdy sneakers touted as being great for toddlers just learning to walk. James knew that the babies had all been pulling themselves up and “scooting” around the edges of furniture, but none of them had taken that first step yet; Katie would need shoes when she did, if she was going out.

“Is that everything?” Steve asked.

“For now, yeah.” James looked around for Jane and Darcy and found them with arms full of pink and frills, heading towards the registers. “Let’s get out of here.”

The woman at the register, whose name tag read JESSIE, met them with a cheery grin that almost hurt James’ teeth. “Hello! Did you find everything okay?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve said, polite as always.

Jessie began scanning their purchases, asking them questions about Katie and her interests. James was a little overwhelmed and not really ready to answer, but what surprised him was Steve. He answered her questions politely and more or less truthfully, but volunteered nothing and actually gave her very little information.

“Are you entitled to a military discount?” Jessie asked them as she finished ringing them up.

James wanted to laugh. Technically, the answer was yes; he and Steve were both Army veterans, but they’d served in World War II, and if they didn’t announce who they were they’d have a hell of a time proving it. Steve, however, simply gave her a polite smile. “We don’t have a military ID, no.”

“Ah.” Jessie named their total.

Steve reached into his pocket, extracted his wallet, and pulled out a few crisp bills. The woman looked startled, for some reason. She checked the bills a couple times, evidently making sure they weren’t counterfeit—security measures had improved since James’ day—and then carefully counted out his change and handed it to him. “Here you are, sir. And here are your bags.”

“Thank you.” Steve dumped the change into a small box on the counter with the March of Dimes logo on it, then took one of the bags so James didn’t have to carry them all. Not that they were heavy, but they were awkward.

“What was that look for?” James muttered once they were out of earshot. “The one she gave you when you paid for this stuff?”

“Probably wondering what the hell I was doing paying cash. Nobody uses it anymore, not for big purchases.”

“Everyone does checks?”

Steve laughed. “Nobody really does those anymore either. They use credit cards or debit cards. Kind of like checks, but electronic, so you know right away if they’ve actually got money to back up the promise or if it’s just—”

“Cobwebs and daydreams,” James completed, laughing as well. There was a twinge of melancholy behind it, though. He’d lost count of how many times he’d heard his father say that over the years. The old man hadn’t trusted banks even before the crash, but then, he’d been a surprisingly old-fashioned man in a lot of ways. Sometimes he was right, sometimes he wasn’t, but he’d absolutely never let his wife forget when he was.

Steve shook his head fondly. “Come on. Let’s go find Jane and Darcy and get the hell out of here.”

* * *

Katie was just waking up from her nap when they got back to the Tower, and she looked perfectly comfortable in Natasha’s arms, but Steve couldn’t help but grin when she immediately stretched her arms out for Bucky to pick her up. The grin only got bigger when Bucky immediately cuddled her close without a moment’s hesitation. Having her around was doing a lot to help Bucky’s recovery already.

They had to show off what they’d bought to the others, and then Jane and Darcy had to show off their purchases as well. Sam made dinner and they all ate together, like they usually did in the evenings. There was laughter and teasing and a general atmosphere of camaraderie and goodwill…even if Clint’s expression was slightly strained. Bucky finally called a halt to the evening when Katie started yawning and rubbing at her eyes. To Steve’s surprise, he asked him to come with him and help put Katie to bed.

The crib Tony had bought for her, surprisingly, wasn’t some ultramodern contraption made of steel and plastic, but a solid, old-fashioned wooden crib painted white. Steve had assumed Bucky would want to give Katie a bath or something, but instead he just changed her diaper with surprising alacrity, got her into a light sleeper, and lay her gently down in the crib. He rubbed her back for a second, and her eyes fluttered closed. From the evenness of her breathing, Steve guessed she’d been asleep before she hit the mattress.

Bucky bent down and kissed her cheek, then flipped the switch and tugged Steve into the bedroom part of his suite. Steve couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “What exactly did you need my help with here?”

“I didn’t. I just wanted to talk to you and it seemed like a good excuse.”

“You know we don’t need an excuse, right?”

“Still.” Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled Steve down to sit next to him.

Steve’s stomach flipped. They’d been together almost two months, but they were still easing into the physical side of things; they’d kissed, held one another, gotten back into the habit of sharing a bed with the knowledge that the feelings they’d always tried to suppress were not only allowed but encouraged. This was obviously different, though. This was more like when Bucky had joined Steve in his room, the first night he’d been at the Tower, when they’d looked through one of Steve’s old sketchbooks. _Talk_ was clearly not a euphemism, and Steve had no idea what it was Bucky wanted to discuss. He was a little comforted by the fact that Bucky didn’t let go of his hand, but only a little.

After a moment or two, Bucky asked, “Why were you being so cagey with that woman at Macy’s?”

It actually took Steve a minute to realize what Bucky meant. “It just…didn’t feel right. I know it was probably her doing the customer-service thing, but it felt like she was fishing for something. I’m just…I dunno, Buck. Maybe I’m being paranoid. But I don’t want anything to happen to you—or Katie, and she’s only been here a few hours. I’m going to be a little tense around anyone I think might be trying to take you away from me again.”

Bucky squeezed his hand lightly. “Yeah, she was being kinda pushy. Not like that kid walking the racks. Maybe she’s just one of those people who thinks two fellas shouldn’t be raising a kid together, much less a girl.”

“That’s probably it,” Steve admitted. “I should maybe go apologize.”

“No, you were being plenty polite, and it’s not like you apologizing for being paranoid will do anything if you had a reason to be.”

“Yeah, okay.” Steve glanced at Bucky, but Bucky wasn’t looking at him. He was looking straight ahead of himself, staring at the wall as though it held the secrets of the universe.

Steve held his tongue. He didn’t know whether that was the only thing Bucky had wanted to discuss or not, but he’d let him lead this conversation wherever it needed to go. Or not, as the case may be.

Finally, Bucky spoke softly. “In the car, on the way to…when you said that the serum was supposed to fix everything that was wrong with you. What was upsetting you about that?”

Steve turned to look at Bucky in surprise. He hadn’t realized Bucky had even noticed anything odd about him, let alone that it had been the memory of that day that had upset him. Bucky didn’t turn his head, but his eyes slid over to meet Steve’s.

It was just for a second, but guilt swamped him. Steve looked away and swallowed hard. In a low voice, he said, “They told us it was a disease. Being gay. I thought—when they first told me all my issues would go away after they did the procedure, I thought, wow, that’d be great. To be able to be… _normal._ To look you in the eye and not worry about what I might accidentally let slip and what you’d think if I did. And then Erskine told me about what happened when he gave the serum, or a version of the serum anyway, to Schmidt, and…I had a hell of a time sleeping that night. The serum was only going to fix _physical_ issues. The _mental_ traits—those got enhanced. So I thought, hell, if I go through with this…” He closed his eyes tightly, wanting to banish the memory. “I almost backed out, Buck. I didn’t want to…I was afraid it would make me so—so _sick_ that when I saw you again, I’d, I dunno, pounce you and rip your clothes off or something.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Steve saw Bucky’s lips twitch upwards in a smile. “I dunno, Stevie, I might’ve liked that.”

“Yeah, shut up.” Steve managed a smile, too, then dropped his gaze to his clasped hands. “I was _scared._ Of all the things that were in my head…that was the one thing society had always told me I should be most ashamed of, and I was scared that if it got worse than it already was, I’d end up in an institution. Ma spent most of my childhood fighting to keep me _out_ of a place like that. I didn’t want to willingly subject myself to a procedure that would end with me in one getting…electroshock therapy or whatever to make me love women. The only reason I went through with it was because I’d kind of started getting a crush on Peggy Carter and I figured, you know, maybe the serum would enhance _that_ and the other stuff would go away. And then I stepped out of the machine and…I dunno. The serum didn’t enhance my emotions, just my…I don’t know how to explain it, Buck.”

“You don’t have to,” Bucky said. “I understand. It was more gradual with me, but…I understand. The things inside you, the things that made you _you…_ that’s what got enhanced. You were always brave, stubborn, loyal, selfless…that stuff just got deeper and more obvious. ‘S why they picked you for the project, right?”

“That’s what Erskine said. Was never sure I believed him.” Steve turned his head a little to look at Bucky. “So yeah, that’s why I got so upset about the discussion about how the serum was supposed to fix me. Because it reminds me that I used to think loving you was wrong.”

Bucky reached over and cupped Steve’s cheek. His fingers—his _real_ fingers—were warm against his skin, strong and supportive. Steve met Bucky’s eyes and remembered, all over again, why he loved this man.

“I used to think the same thing,” Bucky murmured. “And it was only partly because I thought I wasn’t good enough for you. Between society in general and, well, the whole Catholic thing, they spent most of the time we were growing up telling us that people like us were worse than anything overseas. I thought I was a lost cause long before Schmidt got a hold of me. I hated myself for loving you—well, that’s not it, really. I always thought, only someone with a heart of stone wouldn’t have loved you. Remember that Kay Kyser song?”

“ _You’re the dream that dreamers dream about…_ ” Steve sang, only a little off-key. He’d heard that song more times than he could count.

“I thought about you every time I heard that song. Even before the war, but especially during it. It wasn’t loving you I thought was wrong. Anyone would’ve loved you. It was the wanting you. It was wanting _this._ ”

Bucky leaned forward and pressed his lips gently against Steve’s. Steve closed his eyes and leaned into the kiss, sliding his hands around Bucky’s waist. The kiss didn’t get super heated, which wasn’t surprising; they weren’t necessarily hot, passionate people. It was tender and gentle and comforting, and Steve let himself get lost in it.

That is, until Bucky reached up to card his fingers through Steve’s hair. The cold sting of metal against the back of his neck made him flinch, more startled than anything, but Bucky immediately pulled away. His eyes were wide and borderline terrified. “What is it? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you? Oh, God—”

“Buck, no, come back,” Steve said, a little breathlessly. He tried to tug Bucky a little closer, rubbing his back as comfortingly as he could. “I’m fine. I’m sorry. The cold just startled me a bit.”

Bucky’s shoulders slumped. He looked down at his left arm, turning his hand over slowly as he stared at the metal fingers. His jaw jumped slightly.

Steve cursed inwardly. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean—”

Bucky shook his head, lips pressed tightly together. “I hate this,” he said softly, almost too softly to hear. “I hate what it means. I hate what they did to me and having to be reminded of it every time I look at my hand. I hate that I can’t _feel_ anything with it—I know there are things on the other end and I get the electrical impulse when it connects with something, but it’s not the same. I hate not being able to feel when you hold my hand or when Katie pats my arm. I hate not being able to _touch_ you.”

Steve’s brain supplied several helpful interpretations of that last sentence. He pushed them firmly aside. This wasn’t the time for that. He recognized the signs, things he’d begun to notice even before Bucky had fallen from the train but never really thought about until he woke up in the twenty-first century and they had words for things they’d only just begun to understand back then. Bucky was beginning to get spun up about his arm, and if Steve didn’t divert the spiral, it likely wasn’t going to end well. And Katie was asleep in the other room.

“I’ll stick to your right side,” he promised. “As long as you need me to. You always stay to that side of me anyway…”

“That was your bad ear,” Bucky murmured. “I remember. You couldn’t hear as well out of that ear as you could out of the other one, so I…I always took that side so that you’d know if anyone tried to sneak up on you. So I could protect you.”

Steve risked a quick kiss to Bucky’s cheek. “You know, I never even noticed that was why you were doing that? But I appreciate it just the same. So if you need me to stay on _your_ good side…”

“They fixed yours.” Bucky’s voice was so soft Steve almost couldn’t hear him. “I wish there was a way to fix mine.”

“Bucky.” Steve took Bucky’s hand— _both_ of Bucky’s hands—in his and held them tight. “We’re living in the same building as a man who’s built forty-seven versions of a super suit, a gigantic flying ship with the ability to hunt down bad guys and eliminate them, a pair of hearing aids that disappear when you put them on, and a set of literal wings. If you think he can’t build you a prosthetic arm that moves and feels like a real one, you’re crazy.”

“I know,” Bucky admitted. “And he’s offered. I just…I don’t know, Steve. I don’t know which would be worse, being awake and _feeling_ everything he’s doing and having to watch, or letting him put me under and waking up with a body I didn’t recognize.”

Steve swallowed hard. He’d like to have said he understood, but at the same time, oh, he was _so_ glad he didn’t understand. He also knew there was literally no way he could make this any better for Bucky. He’d have to make his own decisions.

“Whatever you decide, Buck,” he said at last, “I’ll be right there with you. If you decide to stay awake, I’ll hold your good hand and talk to you and distract you. If you decide you want him to knock you out first, I’ll be there when you go under and I’ll make damned sure I’m the first thing you see when you come around. And if you decide you don’t want to go through with it and you just want to deal with life with this arm, well, like I said, I’ll stay to your right side so you can always feel the hand holding yours.”

Bucky gave that soft, endearing little laugh of his that Steve had always loved, then looked up at him with a crooked grin. “Thanks, Stevie.”

“It’s you and me, Buck,” Steve promised. “To the end of the line. Just like we’ve always said.”

A light suddenly flared in Bucky’s eyes, a fire Steve hadn’t seen in years and didn’t think he’d ever actually seen directed at him. He reached out and gripped the back of Steve’s head, then pulled him close and kissed him hard.

Steve wasn’t prepared for the crush of Bucky’s lips against his, and he made a muffled noise of surprise. Before he could recover, Bucky had him practically on his lap, one hand in an almost punishing grip in Steve’s hair, the other splayed possessively over his back. Flailing for something to hold onto, Steve managed to grab Bucky’s shirt and hang on for dear life. His lips parted under the demanding onslaught of Bucky’s mouth and tongue. He tried to give as good as he got, but he was definitely the less experienced person here, and even with as much practice as he’d gotten in the last few weeks, he was no match for Bucky.

Bucky turned them both without breaking the kiss and slammed Steve into the mattress. It was so much like being in a fight that Steve had to stop himself from continuing the roll and trying to gain the upper hand. He had no idea where this was going, but he was pretty sure he didn’t have what it took to be on top. A shiver ran through him at the thought.

His body was reacting to the position, running hot and nerves thrumming in a way he honestly couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt. There was a stirring between his legs that he’d learned to be ashamed of as a young man, and even knowing that it was _okay_ now didn’t help. He was…scared. There was no other way to put it. Of all the things in his life he’d faced down, the idea of giving in to what his damned, contrary body wanted was the only thing that truly terrified him anymore. He couldn’t help the small, panicked noise that slipped out of his mouth.

Bucky stopped. Instantly. He pulled away from Steve and looked down at him, hands pressed against the mattress on either side of his shoulders as he pushed up slightly. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Fine,” Steve lied through his teeth, trying to smile. “I’m fine.”

“ _Steve._ ”

Normally, when Bucky said Steve’s name after he told a blatant lie, like saying _I’m fine_ as he tried to stop a major arterial bleeding with a cocktail napkin, it was with mingled exasperation and stern fondness. This, though—this was different. Bucky sounded genuinely worried. Maybe even a little afraid. His eyes were darting back and forth, obviously scanning for some kind of clue about what was going on.

Steve had to be honest. He licked his lips and swallowed before answering. “I’m just…I’m scared.”

Bucky stared at Steve, his face softening. After a moment, he climbed carefully off of Steve and lay down on the mattress next to him. He reached over and pulled Steve into his arms, cuddling him close and tucking his chin over the top of his head.

“I’m sorry, Stevie,” he murmured. “I got carried away a little there. It’s okay. We don’t have to do anything right now. Just let me hold you while you get some sleep.”

“I _do_ want this,” Steve said. It was important to him that Bucky understood that. “I want you. All of you. Always have. I just…I guess it’s gonna take a while to shake off twenty-six years of…”

“Brainwashing?” Bucky supplied. Steve looked up quickly, but there was a fond smile on Bucky’s lips. “Yeah, I know what you mean. Bad as I’ve wanted you for years…Steve, you’ve gotta know I wouldn’t have pushed you into anything. I didn’t realize I was on top of you until I heard you make that noise. When— _if_ —we do anything like that, we’ll take it slow, okay? I promise I won’t hurt you.”

“I know.” Steve trusted Bucky in a way he trusted nobody else. He rested his head against Bucky’s chest, listening to the steady thump of his heartbeat that had always comforted him when they were younger. “I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too.” Bucky kissed the top of Steve’s head. “Get some sleep.”

“You, too.” Steve yawned and slid his arm over Bucky’s chest. “We’ve got family things to do tomorrow.”

**Author's Note:**

> The song Steve sings a line from is "Who Wouldn't Love You" by Kay Kyser and His Orchestra.


End file.
